


Time stood still

by Trash_Planet (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Character Death, John Commits Suicide, M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 05:47:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7031524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Trash_Planet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>based on these texts:<br/>MH: Since when did you call instead of writing SMS, what happened?<br/>SH: He promised me he'd never touch him. He said it was our game. He, h-h-he wouldn't...<br/>MH: Sherlock what happened?<br/>SH: He said he would NEVER. God I'm such an idiot<br/>MH What are you talking about? Sherlock. what. happened?<br/>SH: He's gone. John I-he's gone...I can't...<br/>MH: Oh my god Sherlock listen. Stay where you are, Sherlock? Fuck!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time stood still

I open the door to our apartment and shut it quickly as I run up the worn stairs like I have done a thousand times glad to finally be home. Scanning the room with my azure eyes while I take off my black shoes, hang my coat and blue scarf up I find that everything looks the same as it did before my departure. My violin was left out on the coffee table near the old dark coloured sofa. My science experiment I started days ago is exactly where I left it. Everything is silent. I wander to the kitchen and start boiling the kettle 

"John?" I shout into the empty flat. No reply. I wander around the flat until I come to the bathroom door that has been left a jar.

"John?" I peer in gently. Nobody is there. I knock on the pale door to his room. Everything is neat. His army uniform is hung neatly in the corner near his spotlessly made bed. I shut the door as the whistle of the kettle interrupted my train of thought. I go and pour myself a drink and sit down, I blew the steam away and take a sip. I eye my Violin and quickly pick it up by the finger bored and take it to my room where it would have less chance of being broken. When I open the door I am greeted with my worst nightmare. The black handgun I keep in the draw of the wood coffee table now lies in the cold, lifeless hands of my best friend. A note is in his other hand but I can't tear away my eyes from his peaceful face to read it. I pull out my phone and press speed dial. The line picks up.

"Since when did you call instead of writing hm?" 

"M-Mycroft h-hes gone" I mumble still in a state of shock 

"Sherlock what's happened" and I force myself to breathe

"John...He's dead" I let a tear roll down my cheek undisturbed 

"I'm sending a car for you. Sherlock don't do anything stupid" 

"I-I'm sorry" I put the phone down and take the gun and put it to my own head. I will not live in a world where he isn't.


End file.
